Tabloids
by Accio-Underwear
Summary: Everything comes at a price. Even people.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer – I do not own South Park_

"Fuck, that was good."

Ike Broflovski exhaled deeply and felt his heart rate begin to slow as the weight of Filmore Anderson rolled off him, landing carelessly next to the Canadian American. He reached over for the cinderblock he used as a nightstand and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up before returning the package and laying back against his pillow.

Ike wrinkled his nose and waved away the smoke as Filmore inhaled. "Can't you do that outside?" He complained.

"I'm naked and covered in your cum," Filmore argued as he took another drag of what was sure to be his end.

"So?"

"So, just open a window."

Ike sighed and rolled off the futon they shared, moving to the one window in their room to open it. It was a frustrating window; it didn't have a screen on it so in the summer, like now, bugs would fly in and feast on their skin. More than twice did a pigeon wreak havoc in their room. It jammed easily and took a fight to get it opened or closed, causing Ike to sweat more than he did during the sex he'd just had.

With a crack, the window opened and Ike stared out into the grimy New York neighborhood that he and Filmore called their home. As soon as he had turned 18, Ike moved to the Big Apple in hopes of finding himself. Logically, he should have known he'd end up in the shitter but he'd believed in the romanticized ideals of the New York that Hollywood portrayed far too much.

And he believed in himself more.

Instead, he was living with his best friend in a shitty one bedroom apartment with no furniture. As a result of that, the boys ended up sharing a futon and as a result of _that_, they became fuck buddies.

Ike wasn't really sure how it happened. He vaguely remembered that they were bored since they didn't have a TV or money, and cheap beer that Filmore's boss at the liquor store let him have.

Thank God Filmore was twenty-one.

"Stop staring out the window and come spoon with me," Filmore ordered from across the room.

Ike sent his friend a distasteful glare, "Since when did you spoon?" He asked.

"Since I made you my bitch five minutes ago," Filmore stated casually, letting out his smoke into the shape of an 'O'.

Ike crossed the room and kicked Filmore in the stomach, "Stop smoking in bed, asshat!" He snapped before stepping over the now groaning man, "I'm going to take a shower, I feel fucking nasty and the heat's going to make it worse."

"The water's going to be cold," Filmore informed.

Ike turned on his heel and gave Filmore and withering glare. "What." He demanded.

Filmore sighed, "Ike, it was either the rent or hot water."

Ike groaned. He couldn't complain because as a jobless nineteen year old, he had barely any experience and was thus - jobless. Thanks to the economy, he'd lost the job he had when he arrived to New York and no one was desperate enough to hire and train him. Thank God for Unemployment checks "Right. Right. It's fine." He mumbled. "I'll just…be quick about it."

"Have fun with that," Filmore saluted lazily and Ike merely rolled his eyes, leaving the room and going into the bathroom across the hall.

He took one of the five thin towels they had and stared at himself in the mirror with distaste. He was bruised from Filmore's 'love bites' (more like purposeful bruises to make Ike suffer in the heat by wearing clothes to cover them in public) and a few scratches. His roommate had been getting rougher with his fucking as of late and it was a bit concerning.

They weren't together. The most together they were was as best friends and roommates. And fuck buddies. They didn't kiss. They didn't hug. They just fucked and got on with their lives.

Ike wasn't even entirely sure if Filmore was straight or gay or what. He sometimes got the feeling that he had sex with Ike because Ike was available for sex.

More than sometimes actually.

The sex they just had, for example, strongly gave Ike that feeling.

Not that Ike was emotional at the thought. He didn't like Filmore like that. He liked guys, that was for sure, but he didn't like Filmore. Filmore was his best friend, confidant and really just what Stan Marsh was to his brother Kyle.

Only with fucking involved.

Ike wrinkled his nose as the mental image of Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski screwing each other shot into his mind. Ew. Just…ew.

Pushing disturbing thoughts aside, Ike took a deep breath and turned to the cramped shower/bathtub combo. He wasn't going to test the water with his hand. He'd just…turn the shower on, jump in and hurriedly scrub and pray that the water was just cold but not _arctic_ cold.

He stepped inside and stared at the threatening shower head.

The next three minutes of washing, rinsing and freezing were minutes of pure Hell and Ike could see his skin turning blue. He was shivering and shuddering by the time he got out of the shower and wrapping the towel tightly around himself in a desperate attempt to reactivate his blood circulation.

As he warmed his body, he heard the trill ring of their garage sale phone and listened curiously as Filmore talked on it politely. It seemed to be quick and to the point as the next thing Ike knew, his roommate was pounding on the bathroom door.

"Ike! You have an interview tomorrow!"

Ike rushed for the door and flung it open, readjusting his towel. "Where?!" He asked. "When?!"

Filmore grinned, struck a pose and gave Ike a set of jazz hands with a stunning smile. Still naked. "Broadway, baby!"

It was not Broadway.

Hell, it wasn't even close to Times Square.

The small performance theater was, however, still located downtown in a nice little neighborhood that was provided with public transportation.

Ike _really_ wanted this job though so he straightened out his clothes, his only pair of khaki pants and a polo shirt he stole from Filmore, and bravely walked into the theater.

Locating the manager, Kevin, was difficult enough. An employee pointed him one way and another pointed him in the completely opposite direction. Eventually he ended up standing on the stage, clueless and feeling a bit frustrated. Did it count as being late if he was there but couldn't find his interviewer?

"Hey, idiot!" Ike looked up at the sound box in shock, "Get off the stage!"

Flustered, he scrambled off the stage, jumping into the house seats and fumbled with his folder of directions, resume copies and reference letters. As well as his transcript, just in case. There was a light of a door opening under the sound box and a burly middle-aged man was stomping out toward him.

Ike never shook so much in his life.

"Broblovski, right?"

"Broflovski," Ike corrected quickly and quietly while holding out his hand for a shake.

The man didn't take it but eyed him up and down. "You own jeans and t-shirts, right?"

"Yessir." Ike replied while pulling his hand back awkwardly. He was pretty sure this was the interview and it was very unconventional. He didn't know what to do with himself now and he was sure he was going to flunk.

"Know anything about the theater?" The man who Ike was guessing was Kevin asked.

"I-I acted. In school…" Ike fumbled. That was no good, was it?

Kevin sighed. "Know how to use a wrench?"

Latching onto this question, Ike nodded aggressively. "Yes!" Please let this be surprisingly more important than the other question…

"Do drugs?"

"No."

"Drink?"

"I'm too young." Ike replied. It wasn't a lie…

"Alright. Be here at eleven tomorrow, kid." Kevin sighed while handing Ike a packet. "Fill these out tonight and bring them back for all of that legal crap. And bring your ID and Social Security card."

"R-Really?" Ike replied with a hopeful tone, "You mean I got the job?!"

"Until you screw up, yeah, you got the job. Now get outta my sight. I have a show tonight and you're killing precious time."

Ike nodded quickly and rushed towards the exit. "Thank you!" He called.

He got a job.

He turned the corner and shoved two quarters into a nearby payphone before dialing his home number.

"Hullo?"

"Filmore, I got the job!"

"You…what? Dude, I'm tired. What?"

"I got the job!"

"Yeah, that's great. Whatever. Come home, Ike, I'm hungry…"

"Yeah, yeah, sure." Ike breathed before hanging up. He was willing to cook for Filmore tonight because he was in a great mood. He got a job at a theater, probably doing menial tasks that he'd most likely fall in love with.

He got the job!

The amount of rice they ate was probably unhealthy, but it was cheap and a bag could keep them fed for weeks. So Ike made rice that night before realizing that it was going to have to go solo, no sauce, no meat, no vegetables. Just dry rice.

"We have ketchup, don't we?" Filmore stated when Ike brought up the conundrum to his friend.

Ike scrunched up his nose at the thought. "Dude, that's disgusting."

Filmore grinned, "Actually, I've tried it before. Not that bad."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Ike hesitated before reaching into their nearly empty fridge and pulling out the worn down ketchup bottle. Filmore yanked it from his hands and prepared himself a bowl of rice before beating the ketchup out of the bottle until a good glob dripped over his food. He then stirred it in, the whole while Ike watched in abject horror.

Was he really going to try that?

His desperate stomach said 'yes'.

And so he followed Filmore's suit of squeezing ketchup into the rice, activating his long forgotten gag reflex and he took a moment to breathe and forget about what he was going to eat.

"Ike, really, it's not that bad." Filmore chuckled over his own meal.

"Well of course you're going to say that." Ike snapped. "You want me to be grossed out."

Filmore simply laughed more. "You put my penis in your mouth the other night and you're disgusted by rice and ketchup."

"Shut up!" Ike nearly yelled, feeling flustered as his face grew hot. Filmore's laughter did not help his case.

He pouted, leaning against the counter before straightening up seconds later when there were three short knocks on the door. Filmore put his hand up and set his bowl down. "I'll get it." He informed in a lighthearted tone. "Don't eat until I can watch."

Ike mocked him and eyed his meal again. Ugh.

There were some harsh whispers from the front door. A sense of urgency in the air made Ike's nerves grow over the short time and he hesitantly set his bowl down before edging his way out of the kitchen.

Filmore stopped him short though. "I'll be back in about an hour or so." He stated. "Go ahead and eat without me."

"Where are you going?" Ike asked suspiciously. Filmore stopped and looked at Ike, leading the younger of the two to want to take what he asked back and implore further at the same time. He'd never seen Filmore look so…terrified before. So worried and scared. "…Filmore?"

Filmore sighed tiredly and ruffled Ike's hair in a manner that reminded Ike of his older brother. "Get some sleep, you've got your first day tomorrow." He ordered, earning a scowl from Ike.

"Filmore, dude…" He started.

"Ike. Just…shut up." Filmore snapped suddenly before slipping out the front door and closing it securely behind him.

Ike stood there for what felt like forever, trying to wrap his mind around the situation but he couldn't. Filmore snapped at him and was genuinely frightened about whoever was behind that door.

Ike thought Filmore told him everything but…something was off now. He'd been keeping a secret. A frightening one.

And though Ike didn't know it, he was terrified.

So much that his appetite completely left him and all he could really do was sit against the wall near the front door and wait for Filmore to come home.

An hour passed.

Two hours.

Midnight.

Twelve-thirty.

The door opened abruptly soon after and Ike stood immediately at the sight before him. Filmore staggered into the apartment, closing the door behind him and leaning against with a breath of relief. He cracked his unbruised eye open at Ike, who stared at him in horror and gave another, exhausted, sigh.

"Ike…"

"You're beaten up." Ike managed to utter. And it was true. Filmore was bruised up, he had a bloody lip and was holding his arm as it was, much to Ike's growing horror, out of its socket. "W-We need to put that back where it goes."

Filmore gave Ike a slightly horrified look but nodded. "Right. Uhm. In my back pocket is my wallet…"

Ike understood as Filmore seemed to scared to let go of his injured arm and managed to pull the old leather wallet out of his roommates pocket. Filmore shuffled to their room with Ike in to and gingerly sat down on the bed before opening his mouth.

Ike stuck the wallet in his mouth and gave Filmore an apologetic look. "This is really going to hurt. Sorry, dude."


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer – I do not own South Park_

"They're beating us in ratings again."

Phillip Niles Argyle gave his best friend and costar, Terrance Henry Stoot, an unamused look. "They got a raise too, I heard." He commented.

"And yet they've managed to convince the courts that _we_ need to pay _them_ alimony." Terrance grouched while rolling up the paper he was reading from and tossing it at a nearby garbage can in basketball fashion.

He missed by a mile and didn't bother to pick it up.

"Yes, well it doesn't help that they have a cult like following for women's empowerment when our following is…"

"Elementary school kids and college students," Terrance finished knowingly. "And the majority of them male."

"Not much to work off of." Phillip sighed.

The Queef sisters had been a thorn in their side for years now. The romance and start of their marriages should have been enough of a warning of what would be to come. Afterall, they didn't start entirely lovey dovey.

In fact, Terrance and Phillip were planning on murdering the young women when they met but the thought that these ladies practically grew up wanting to please them sexually was appealing and they worked with it, even when the relationships turned abusive from both sides.

Then Terrance was caught with whores and illegitimate children.

And Phillip questioned his sexuality as he couldn't find Katherine Queef at all desirable in bed. Their sex life died quickly along with their marriage.

And even then, Katherine Queef would not give Phillip the sweet release that divorce granted, giving them two more years of suffering before finally relenting and agreeing to the separation – only to fuck him over royally in court.

Thank _God_ they didn't have children.

Phillip stood up from his chair, looking around the simple dressing room he and Terrance shared. The theater they'd be performing at tonight was certainly something they were slowly growing accustomed to. Instead of being practically a stadium, they were in a dingy little theater in New York. Something starting comics would go to perform most likely. And maybe higher ranking community theaters.

Usually when they were in New York, it was one of the greatest trips of the job. They'd stay in the finest hotels, eat at the finest restaurants, cruise broadway, mingle with other stars and buy whatever suited them.

But not now.

Now they were in a mediocre hotel, one used generally for businessmen and higher class one-night stands with prostitutes. They ate at fast food joints, which didn't do well with Terrance's rising and falling weight issue and cholesterol, and more often than not, they were strapped for cash on their trips.

"We need to get back to where we were." Phillip stated as he studied a bucket filled with water dripping from a pipe above it in mild disgust. "We need to get back to red carpet status."

"Yeah, but how?" Terrance asked. "We've written new material, we've had specials, we had the 'Asses of Fire' anniversary extravaganza…"

"And that was a major flop." Phillip agreed. "We need something to get us into the spotlight again."

"Well, either one of us can die or you can finally admit you're gay to the world." Terrance replied blandly. "And I'm not dying. And I'm outing you if you die."

Phillip glared at Terrance. He'd come out to his best friend two years ago and since then, had been often questioned as to why he didn't have a boyfriend, why he didn't seem to bring men home, and if he was really gay or just going through 'a phase'. That last one was quickly silenced when Terrance found all the gay porn under Phillip's bed. Because 'if one can spend that much on porn, it must be for sure'.

"I'll come out when I'm good and ready." He snapped.

"On your deathbed, right." Terrance snorted.

Phillip opened his mouth to retort but a stagehand had knocked on the door and peeked in. "Five minutes til' curtain, sirs." She informed before flinching at their annoyed looks and retreating back into the hall.

"Five minutes until half an audience." Terrance sighed.

"And a smaller than should be paycheck." Phillip added.

"And chuckles instead of laughter."

The looked at each other, forgetting their previous feelings of annoyance towards each other and moved toward the mirrors, double checking themselves to make sure they looked stage ready before doing their tradition of eating a can of cold beans each.

It helped with the gas.

There came a knock at the door as they shoveled beans into their mouths and they looked up as the stagehand nervously peeked in again. "One minute." She informed.

"Beh ri' thar'." Terrance informed with a full mouth. They set aside their beans, wiped their faces and rushed after the girl as she led the way. She gestured down a hall and they both peered down.

A young man was standing, holding the rope to the curtains in his hands and watching them expectantly. Obviously, he was waiting for them to get on the stage so he could cue their announcement and pull the curtain open.

They approached him with a slow swagger. They never planned on it but this is how they acted, like they owned the place and they were doing the crappy little joint a favor by performing and not the other way around. He raised an eyebrow, not exactly looking amused and they gave him an intimidating look.

His unamused expression stayed.

That was new.

Phillip eyed him as they passed and a million assessments when through his mind as they made their way center stage. His eyes were too large, too brown, too innocent, he looked far too young to be a theater major of sorts (that's what was usually employed by these places, Phillip noticed), he looked poor, painfully poor. Like that was his only pair of jeans and otherwise he owned a pair of khaki's or something for nice occasions. But he wasn't ugly, oh no. And he had a bit of an intelligent spark in his eyes.

They took center stage and the boy pressed a button on a console next to him so the prerecorded voice boomed out their names and introductions while he slowly pulled the curtain open, the rope making the little dolly wheels going 'ree ree' with every yank and eventually they were exposed to a surprisingly full house.

Terrance looked at Philip and beamed.

They farted, they laughed, they got some laughter as well and they joked and ran through their routine. Things were looking up.

Until Phillip started feeling a very peculiar pain in his chest.

At first it was just an annoying thing. It seemed soothed whenever he rubbed his chest. But then the pain intensified and he was starting to feel a bit dizzy.

"S-Say Terrance…" He stopped, unable to really get the joke out because he was having too much of a shortness of breath that he couldn't get any words out.

Terrance looked at him in a frantic worry. "Phillip? Are you-"

Phillip's legs gave way and he hit his knees painfully. His chest was really hurting and his head was dizzy and his left arm was numb and his panic wasn't helping.

"He's having a heart attack," A voice said from above him, but his head was swimming. "Who has a cell phone?" There was a call from farther away and the voice quickly said, "Call 9-1-1 and quick!" Then large, intelligent brown eyes stared into his blue. "I need you to cough."

Phillip blinked. What?

"C'mon. Cough for me."

He coughed and the face before him smiled. "Alright. Cough again. Make it deep. Take a deep breath first. Really mean it."

Phillip did so. Coughing as the boy ordered and he heard Terrance interrupt his coaching. "What is that supposed to do?" he sounded both anxious and relieved as Phillip had not yet died. He was probably going to apologize later for even suggesting one of them died for headlines.

"The deep breaths get oxygen to the lungs," The boy explained, "And the coughing squeezes the heart and keeps blood circulating. Basically it forces it to still work in a manual sense. Keep coughing, don't stop."

He kept coughing, focusing on the boy's face and encouraging words and trying to avoid the worried murmurs of the audience and hundred or so faces watching him intently as sirens filled the excess silence and the doors to the auditorium burst and time seemed to blur.

Phillip remembered an oxygen mask. He remembered pointing at Terrance and the coughing coach and he remembered staring at the ceiling of an ambulance as paramedics fussed over him.

And then he was in the hospital. In a gown with an IV strapped to his arm along with heart monitoring systems and sterile white walls glared at him while he laid, propped up, in his bed. From the edge of his curtain, he could see Terrance, arms crossed over his chest, talking to his doctor and when he looked to his right, he could see the boy, sitting and looking absolutely confused as to why he was dragged along for the ride.

"Hey." He frowned at his own voice. It was so…so weak. He didn't like it. He was not a weak person and his voice should reflect as such.

But it was enough for the boy to sit, looking alert. "Do you need something?" He asked almost automatically. "Water?"

Phillip mulled that over and gave a short nod. Maybe water would clear up his voice.

The boy pulled a little tray closer to his chair and poured a small glass of water from the provided plastic pitcher into a cup with a prepared straw before holding it out for Phillip, who gratefully took it and managed a long sip before offering the cup back to the boy. He took the cup and placed it back on the tray for later use before sitting alert again and watching Phillip closely.

It was almost motherly.

Managing a smile, Phillip shifted and sighed. "Were you right?" He asked and studied the boy's confused expression. "About it being a heart attack?"

"Oh. Yeah." The boy replied quietly.

"How'd you-"

"My Dad had one and the paramedics told me what to do in case it happened again. He's a lawyer. He lives a high stress life."

Phillip nodded in mild understanding and they sat in silence for a moment until the door quietly opened and Terrance slipped inside, running a hand over his face with a wary sigh. He stopped at the foot of Phillip's bed and glared. "What the fuck, guy?"

Phillip blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I told you. You die, I reveal your secret. So…so don't." Terrance moved and sat next to the boy, leaning back in his chair and running his hands over his eyes and rubbing. "That was a full house and you…Phillip, you nearly killed me with worry! If this kid hadn't been there…"

Phillip blinked, feeling touched that Terrance cared so deeply about his wellbeing. He knew he shouldn't have, since after all their years of best friends, it was bound to be that way but Terrance, since the divorce, had toughened his exterior that he tended to even block out Phillip once in a while. "I….Sorry."

"Damn straight, you're sorry." Terrance snapped before reaching into his pocket and dropping something in the boy's lap. "Here's that candy bar I promised you."

"Thanks." The boy replied while ripping open the wrapper.

"Who are you anyway?" Terrance asked nonchalantly and Phillip raised his eyebrow.

"You didn't have the courtesy to ask his name?"

"You were in here with him long enough, did you?" Terrance shot back.

"Touché."

"Ike." The boy interrupted while chewing his chocolate bar. "Ike Broflovski."

The monitor next to Phillip clearly showed his heart rate speed up and a nurse peeked in, watching him nervously as she wasn't sure if he was on the brink of another attack or just really upset about something. "Mr. Argyle, we _really_ need you to calm down…"

Phillip ignored her and Terrance's intense staring. "You're not related to…Sheila Broflovski, are you?"

He heard Terrance suck in a breath. They'd forget fans' names. They'd easily forget faces among the crowds but they would never, not in all these years, forget _that_ woman. The same woman that had sent them to view a glimpse of hell on Earth and then the physical realm of Hell after torture, persecution, and finally wrongful execution. In front of children, no less. Her own child.

"She's my Mom." The boy replied casually with a shrug.

Phillip looked at Terrance.

Terrance stared back with wild eyes as a voice seemed to echo in their minds.

"_What about Ike, Ma?"_

That was who the boy was talking about. This young man here. He was probably barely old enough to walk then.

An internal conversation went through the both of them. What would they do? Turn him away now that they knew his relations? That was the first instinct but he did save Phillip's life and was apparently clueless to his family's dirty past. Perhaps if they just pretended he wasn't related to his mother, they could thank him and never have to see him again.

Then again, the boy of the woman who started a war against them saving Phillip's life and leading to a reconciliation could make papers.

But for who?

They stared at each other before coming to a mutual agreement and nodding.

Phillip's heart rate slowed to where it belonged and he took in the boys face curiously. "Thanks." He stated. "We owe you one."

The boy blinked as Terrance held out a card in front of his face. "We can't do much, but if you think of something you need, reasonably, call us." He stated.

The boy, Ike, seemed positively confused. "The…the candy bar is enough. It's not a big de-"

"It's a huge deal." Phillip insisted. "Take the card. Just in case."

Ike nodded slowly and stood up. "Erm…I should probably go back to work. I kind of just left without telling my boss and I really don't want to be fired…"

"If he gives you trouble, give him our number." Terrance stated.

The boy, still confused, clutched the card and candy bar for dear life and nodded. "Right…uhm…Thanks. Feel better." He stated, meeting Phillip's eyes before quickly shuffling out of the room.

There was a moment of silence as the two Canadians watched the kid dodge a nurse and make his way around the hall.

Terrance then let out a breath and a single word. "Trippy."

Phillip had to agree.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer – I do not own South Park._

Ike was not fired from his job. In fact, he had a hero's welcome from Kevin, who gleefully explained that the news media was all over the theater and giving it attention. It was a commercial they didn't need to pay for and he was already successfully booking up for plays and performances.

Unfortunately, Ike had to talk to some of the reporters and he told them all the honest truth. 'It was nothing, anyone else would've done the same, and I was just there at the right time.'

Of course, they didn't seem to believe that but eventually he was allowed to go home.

Sadly, Filmore was there and had seen the news. Ike explained everything that had happened and showed Filmore the card Terrance had given him.

"This is amazing, Ike!" He gushed, "What are you going to ask for?"

Ike stared at his friend, which was a bit hard since he still looked worse for wear. "Well, nothing I suppose. I'm not going to ask a man who just nearly died to do me a favor."

"But Ike!" Filmore protested, "This is Terrance and Phillip!"

"And they're people too. I'm leaving them be." Ike replied shortly. "If anything, I have job security now and that's all I can really ask for."

Filmore looked ready to argue but instead said nothing, leaving Ike to continue with preparing their frozen pizza for dinner.

They ate in silence but Ike carefully watched Filmore's still beaten face from over his thin slices of cheap pizza. The older man was clearly trouble about something, Ike could tell, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. It was like he was having an internal battle.

They slept on the edges of their futon, seeming to have made a silent but mutual agreement that they didn't need contact that night.

Ike was having trouble falling asleep and just as he was finally about to drift off, he blinked at the sound of a knocking at their door. He went rigid, though he didn't know why, and felt Filmore lift off the futon, trying to be as quiet as possible as to not disturb Ike.

Ike listened, squeezing his eyes closed as his best friend padded out of the room and towards the door in nothing but his boxers, working the painfully loud locks slowly before opening the front door.

Filmore tried to keep the conversation quiet but the voices on the other side were aggressively loud.

"You're past the due date, Anderson!" A gruff voice growled.

"I know, I know." Filmore was hushed and Ike could practically hear him glance towards their room. "C-Can I get changed and we go talk about this? I don't want my-"

"The time for talking's past." The gruff man stated. "Strip him of what he's got."

"Wait! You can't do – UF!"

Ike was on his feet as he heard the sound of contact and Filmore's breath forcing it's way out of his lungs. He flung himself out of the room and glared at the intruders, barely registering that the two men in their apartment were triple Ike's size and looked like they had the temperament of a mother bear whose cubs were in danger. He looked to see Filmore on the floor, arms around his stomach and gasping for air, and without thinking, Ike threw himself at Filmore's offender.

Ike was clawing and kicking and punching, giving a good fight as the other man yowled in surprise and pain. Sadly, the man's partner ripped him off and threw Ike into the wall. A sharp pain shot up Ike's back as he fell to the floor and tried to get to his feet, only to be forced down again by a boot that was bigger than his head.

"Stop, he's not involved!" Filmore scrambled to his feet and tried to pull the man off of Ike as his boot painfully worked and crushing Ike's chest.

The first pulled Filmore off, dragging him to the other side of the room, "Should've thought about that before he got involved, shouldn't he have?" He demanded before throwing Filmore to the floor and giving him a hearty kick. "What do you have of value?"

"Nothing!" Filmore cried. "I swear, you guys!"

Ike felt a crack and he was sure his ribs were going to break and stab himself in the heart even though that made no sense. "I-I've got money!" Ike gasped.

The pressure stopped. "How much?"

"Not much." He could feel pain shooting in his chest, screaming for him to see a doctor about his ribs though he was sure they weren't broken. Cracked probably but he was praying for just bruising, "Just emergency cash from my parents."

He was picked up by the collar of his shirt and shoved towards the bedroom. "Go on then. Get it."

Ike held his chest and stumbled for the room. No one was going to call the cops. No one would in this building. They were in such a poor part of town that it was a regular occasion for illegal happenings to happen such as this and usually the tenants were doing illegal things so why call the cops? They didn't want to get caught doing their dirty business.

He wished he and Filmore had a phone in the bedroom.

He was shaking when he pulled the pillowcase off of his pillow and unzipped the zipper he'd installed on his pillow and rummaged through the stuffing.

"What's going on in there?!"

"I-I'm trying to hurry. The money, I can't find it…" They were going to die. Because Ike couldn't find the money.

Fuck.

"Ike…" Ike froze at the sound of Filmore's weak voice. "Are you….are you trying your pillow?"

What did he do?

Fuck.

What did Filmore do?

"Y-Yeah?"

"I….I emptied it. There's nothing in there."

Ike's heart stopped and he heard a creak behind him. He turned and the kick to the face had him reeling and he fell against the lumpy futon and he nearly lost his dinner at the kick that was then delivered to his stomach.

As his poor body was abused, he heard fragments of sentences and words. "We'll….this time ….friend….money….soon….go…" And then the kicking stopped and the sound of footsteps faded as the door slammed and Ike curled up and felt tears stinging his eyes.

Filmore thudded into the room and fell to his needs next to Ike and shoved him on his back so they could look at each other.

Ike had never seen Filmore look so concerned.

"You look like shit." The younger croaked.

Filmore seemed to relax at that as he managed a broken smile. "You're no beauty queen yourself." He replied.

"I think I need to go to the hospital."

"I was afraid you'd say that." Filmore sighed. "We don't have any-"

"I'm still on my parents' insurance." Ike managed through the pain.

Filmore hesitated. "Can you move?" He asked. "Can you walk?"

Ike nodded. "Just…get my shoes on me and give me support." He croaked.

Filmore nodded, seeming to ignore his own injuries for Ike's. He gathered his shoes, putting them on Ike's feet before pulling a shirt on and slipping into some flip flops. He silently aided Ike to his feet and wrapped his arm around Ike's waist and they slowly headed out of the apartment.

The hospital, Ike remembered vaguely, was two busses away and the busses did not function at this time of night. So the pair was left stumbling blocks and blocks for an hour and a half before a cabbie took pity on them and offered a free-of-charge ride since his shift was over and the hospital was on the way.

They thankfully accepted and Ike avoided his own gaze in the rear-view mirror out of fear of what he would see. He could taste copper and had a feeling his lip was split and now caked with dry blood.

They thanked the driver when he stopped in front of the emergency room, insisting that they didn't need help in and he drove off, most likely to enjoy the rest of the night with his family or get some well deserved sleep while Ike and Filmore stumbled in through the automatic sliding doors.

Upon their arrival, a nurse rushed them. They must've looked pretty bad because she was shoving clipboards into their arms and telling them that she was going to find them a room and it was a slow night so the doctor would probably be with them so fill out their information and sit down until she came back.

They did so, sitting down next to a drunk who looked like he'd gotten into a fight of his own and a little boy, who had something up his nose by size of the lump just above his nostril, and his mother.

The little boy was staring with wide eyes at them but they ignored him and wrote their information.

"So what, exactly, was that about?" Ike asked quietly, deciding now was the time to bring up the reason for their assault.

"Can we please talk about this later?" Filmore asked warily.

"No." Ike replied. "Because if we don't talk about this now, I'm telling them you pushed me down some stairs in a rage and you'll be booked for domestic abuse."

Filmore winced but relented. "Fine. Right. So…those guys…I…I owe them money." He stated quietly.

"I figured that much out on my own, thanks." Ike replied bitterly. "How much and why?"

"Well," Filmore seemed to brace himself. "twenty thousand…ish."

"_What_?!" Ike screeched. "Where the hell did you…WHAT?!"

"I made a mistake, okay." Filmore hissed, ignoring the looks and trying to make Ike quiet down. "There was…some gambling involved and I thought-"

"Oh, that's a laugh," Ike interrupted. "Obviously thinking had no part in this."

Filmore looked at Ike, his mouth forming a thin line. "You're involved now, Ike. I don't know if you heard him before they left but you're involved now and if they go after me, they go after you too." Ike looked at his supposedly best friend in the most fearful way possible and Filmore rubbed his bruised temple, "I'd try to get you out of the city but now money…and they'd find you I'm sure…"

"Is this…are you talking about the _mob_?" Ike asked in horror.

"I'm not sure who they're associated with but I don't doubt it."

Ike's eyes drifted closed at the realization of how royally fucked they were and he gave a shuddered breath. "What are we going to do?" He whispered because he was pretty sure that if they didn't do anything soon, his parents would be receiving news that his dead body was found in a gutter somewhere. Or not found at all.

Filmore situated a hard piece of paper in Ike's hand and he opened his eyes.

"It's our last resort, Ike."

Ike stared at the business card, his hand shaking. He didn't…want to. He had a sense of pride. He couldn't just shove his problem on two more people. Just like Filmore didn't want it to be shoved on Ike.

"We can't."

"We have to. Might even still be in the hospital if it was a big enough heart attack."

Ike shook his head. "It's not right."

"I know." Filmore sighed. "But what else can we do?"

Ike tightened his grip on the card as the nurse came to collect their forms and lead the way to their examination rooms.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer – I do not own South Park_

Terrance swung his feet up onto Phillip's bed, his long legs crossing over Phillip's own as he settled into his seat. "We should've kept the kid around for the interview."

"The reporters aren't going to get past the front door." Phillip replied, sipping his juice. "I'm not supposed to be stressed and my doctor is a bit…"

"Of a Nazi, yeah." Terrance sighed. "I figured as much."

"What are you going to do?"

"What am _I_ going to do?"

"Well, like I said, I've been rendered useless." Phillip shrugged.

Terrance grouched and swiped Phillip's neglected applesauce. "I don't know." He replied while tearing off the lid and snatching the waiting plastic spoon, "I've got to keep the story hot and interesting. We need to keep them interested or we'll be forgotten again, won't we?"

"Mmm, suppose so…" Phillip replied. "Did I nearly die?"

"…Yes. Yes, it was that severe." Terrance decided without professional consultation.

"There you go, then. Just don't let the doctor talk." Phillip replied dully while turning on the TV in the room. It flickered to a news channel and one of the people he hated most in the world was being interviewed.

"-Phillip was always _so_ stressed out and he never took a rest. He had a temper on him too, as I'm sure you've heard, so it didn't help his blood pressure."

Juice splattered and covered Phillip's hand as he crushed the cup in his hands, his heart monitor emphasizing his anger. "What is _she_ doing talking about me and my health on TV?!" He demanded to no one in particular.

"Mr. Argyle!" Phillip froze as the nurse he and Terrance secretly dubbed as 'the dragon woman' marched into his room. It seemed that he had scared the other nurses so much that they assigned the toughest one to him and him alone. He suspected she used to be in the Marines. As a man. "You better calm down if you intend on leaving by the end of the week!"

Phillip forced himself to calm because he really didn't want to be in this crusty American hospital for much longer, what with their hospital _fees_ and whatnot. Terrance helped by turning on the Weather channel. Phillip sighed, watching his heart rate return to normal and, looking appeased, the nurse stomped out of the room again. He dropped his crushed cup and wiped his hand clean.

"I bet half the patients of hers who die, die purely of fear." Terrance commented.

"I don't blame them."

"Back to business," Terrance started, eyeing Phillip warily as though he'd suddenly keel over and die just from that sentence alone. "It seems the missus is leeching off our attention."

"Ex-missus and she's good at that." Phillip replied bitterly.

"What are we going to-Oh, hold on." Terrance's phone had started ringing and he pulled it out. "Don't know the number…"

"You're not allowed to have that one while I have heart monitors on," Phillip pointed out. "They could interfere."

Terrance ignored him and answered the phone. "Hellooooo?"

Phillip watched as his eyebrow rose slowly in interest and he blinked. "Well, if it's something you'd rather talk about in person, we're still at the hospital." He said into the phone. "Right. We'll be here." And he hung up before answering Phillip's interested look. "That was the kid." He stated, preferring not to refer to him by his name as it still brought some memories. "He's thought of a favor, I guess."

"He's on his way?"

"He's here."

Phillip followed Terrance's astonished gaze to the door where Ike stood, looking worse for wear. Well, it was easy enough to figure out how he got there so fast.

Phillip heard Terrance utter 'shit' under his breath and immediately vacated his seat, gently shoving their visitor into it so they could get a better look at him.

Ike was wearing a hospital gown as well and when his back flashed in front of Phillip as he turned to sit down, Phillip noticed the bandages that were wrapped around his upper body. His eye was blackened, his lip was swollen and looked like it was starting to heal from a particularly fearsome cut and he had bruises up and down his arms. Phillip suspected the skin under the gown was no different.

He shifted under their studying because he certainly did not look like this when they saw him just yesterday!

Terrance was the first to voice their thoughts. "What the _fuck_ happened to you?"

"It's a long story." Ike replied while Phillip noted that his voice was a bit hoarse.

"We're not going anywhere." Phillip stated. The kid who saved his life while he was pretty much in the gutter had all the time in the world with him in his book.

Ike merely shook his head and looked at them both. He seemed to have noticed that the worst thoughts had crept into their minds as he forced a laugh. "It's nothing like that. Just…my roommate was an idiot and made the wrong friends." He replied. "And now he owes a lot of money."

"Well, we don't have any of that." Terrance snapped.

Ike looked a bit like a kicked puppy then and Phillip glared at Terrance. "Have some tact." He snapped before looking at Ike. "Were you going to ask for money?"

"I…well, I'd want to earn it!" Ike replied. "I don't want to exploit you or anything."

Something clicked at that.

"Are you single?"

Terrance looked at Phillip like he was insane and Ike blushed profusely. "Excuse me?!"

"Phillip, what are you getting at?" Terrance replied.

Phillip straightened up in his bed. "If that bitch wants to be part of my stories, she can be part of my stories." He smirked. "And Terrance, if the kid agrees, we'll make good on your little suggestion yesterday."

Terrance's eyebrows shot to his hairline as the idea clicked inside of his head as well. "That…that'd be an attention grabber."

Phillip looked at Ike. "What is your opinion on gay relationships?"

"W-Well," sputtered Ike, who was obviously lost and a bit overwhelmed. "They're….good. I mean…"

"Great." Phillip nodded. "Date me."

"WHAT?"

"Date me," Phillip repeated. "I'll properly come out, magazines will hunt us down for photos, we can sell our story and once I'm good and famous, we can break up." He replied. "And we'll split the profits of the story we sell. You'll get all the money you need plus interest. God knows you'll have to pay for your hospital bills."

Ike sputtered, fell silent and opened his mouth. No noise came out so he snapped it shut and when he finally could talk it was a simple: "You're _gay_?"

"Yes." Phillip replied simply.

Ike rubbed his temples warily as his brow furrowed and his mind was obviously reeling. After a moment, he looked at Phillip again. "You're, like, my Dad's age!"

"All the better the story will be and the more eager the magazines will be to dole out their cash." Phillip replied.

"Isn't this…isn't this prostitution?!" Ike asked, he seemed a bit hysterical at the idea which was amusing because he could've easily said 'no' and walked out of there and never looked back. "Isn't this illegal?!"

"I'm not paying you to have sex with me. Hell, we don't even have to kiss." Phillip scoffed. "So, no, you won't be a prostitute."

"…How can I trust you?" Ike asked.

"You saved my life, I owe you." Phillip replied simply. "I won't cheat you out of this." He, had, of course, been a tad neglectful to his fans before but other than that incident where he beat the shit out of a kid, he'd liked to think he was getting better. He vaguely remembered offering to take his Shakespearian acting troupe all the way to Colorado for some fans.

Ike, seemingly accepting this answer, looked like he was scrambling for some other reasonable argument but struggling. "I….I need to think." He said weakly. "I'll be back. I just…"

"We understand." Phillip replied lightly while waving him off. "See you later." Or not. He had a feeling the kid just wouldn't come back. And that was alright, he didn't mind. It wasn't really a loss.

Ike nodded, not really sure of how to take Phillip's nonchalant dismissal before glancing at Terrance, who nodded and looked a bit more friendly, and skittering out of the room as fast as his broken little body could take him.

Once the door was closed, Terrance turned, arms crossed and giving Phillip a critical look. "A bit harsh, guy." He commented.

"Well if he agreed, it wouldn't all be ponies and rainbows." Phillip replied shortly. "It's a serious thing."

"You don't even know if he's interested in men, you probably scared him off."

"Well then it wouldn't have worked out." Phillip replied. "He was asking for money, I offered him a way to get it. If he doesn't want to do it, that's his choice."

Terrance sighed and resumed his position of sitting in the chair with his legs crossed over Phillip's, obviously having given up. He pulled the remote off of the nightstand next to Phillip and turned the channel to some American cartoons. "It's a shame the States don't have Kraft Dinner."

"Mmm." Phillip agreed. "That does sound really good right about now."

They sat watching mindless cartoons for a half hour. An hour. And hour and a half.

Half way to the two hour mark, a knock resounded on the door. Terrance muted the television and got up. "Maybe the reporters actually made it in," He muttered while opening the door. "You came back."

He sounded half surprised and half amused and he turned towards Phillip. "He's back."

Phillip was feeling that amused surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah, guy! He's right here with…I'm assuming the idiot roommate?" Terrance tried.

"Yeah." Ike breathed from behind the door.

Terrance stepped aside and let the young men in. First Ike, still looking as shitty as he did a few hours ago and behind him a tall lean boy who looked just as brutally attacked as Ike though he appeared to have some older injuries as well. This made Phillip happy for some reason. Probably because the kid got his own, even if Ike was in the line of fire at the time.

Terrance leaned the door and leaned against it, watching them casually.

The boy, Ike's nameless roommate, glanced at him and then Phillip and suddenly started fidgeting like a cornered animal that was abused enough. Then again, that's what he was at this point.

Phillip turned his attention to Ike, locking his blue eyes with Ike's intelligent brown ones. "Well?"

Ike did a small, jerking nod. "Yeah," He said hoarsely, "I'll do it."

Phillip glanced at the boy next to Ike and finally Terrance, who seemed to be having the same sneaking suspicion as he was having since he asked. "And you _want_ to, right? No one's forcing you?"

Ike blinked and managed a small laugh. "If you're suggesting Filmore threatened me or something, you're wrong." He stated. "He's a kitten."

"Kittens have sharp claws." Filmore pointed out, his tone annoyed, though Phillip suspected it was always like that.

"But they don't mean to scratch." Ike countered calmly.

Filmore went silent, probably allowing Ike to win this one because he was right and he didn't want to say more in front of two complete strangers. He peeked up at Terrance and Phillip. "Love you guys, by the way."

"We appreciate it." Terrance assured. "We could use as much fan support as we can get."

"Certainly," Phillip agreed, "that's why we need Ike's help."

"Oh." Filmore shifted slightly. "Ike's not a fan. He can't stand your show, really."

There was a mildly awkward silence and Ike glared out the window while a blush filtered onto his cheeks. Of _course_ the son of Sheila Broflovski wasn't a fan. Of –fucking-course.

"It'll make things a lot easier." Terrance finally chirped. "I mean, a non-fan dating Phillip? That'll be great! Harder for the skeptics to think it's a stunt."

Phillip nodded slowly. "That is a good point." He studied Ike for a moment. "Are you sure? Absolutely positive you're fine with fake dating me?"

Ike nodded.

"With holding hands and being gay?"

Ike nodded again and Filmore had a slightly amused look. He'd probably teased Ike a bit about acting gay. "It's my only real option." Ike replied warily.

Phillip eyed Filmore. "And what about you? What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'll be giving them half my paychecks to hold them off," He sighed. "At least until Ike gets more money to give them. And I guess I'll be Ike's bitch for the rest of my life."

"Sounds fair enough to me," Terrance commented.

Phillip had to agree. "Alright." He sighed. "I suppose we have a few things we'll need to work out to be believable…" He gestured to the chairs next to his bed for Ike and Filmore to sit down.

They had a lot to go over.


End file.
